


Game-Show Charisma

by PastelCaterpillar



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Awkward Crush, Biting, Gen, Intimacy, Kissing, Making Out, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Secret Crush, he is extremely bitey, heavy kissing, lots and lots and lots of biting, uhhhh idk what to tag mdudes !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22543630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelCaterpillar/pseuds/PastelCaterpillar
Summary: Reader is an intern working at an office for the development of a public access television channel called Markiplier TV. They're heavily crushing on Bim. Bim's an overly confident dork with the charisma of a saint. Reader can't handle it. They make out in his office. I just wanna make out with Bim, m'dudes.
Relationships: Bim Trimmer/Reader, Bim Trimmer/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Game-Show Charisma

**Author's Note:**

> WOW !!! WOW !! look i actually ??? wrote this stupid thing ???? i'm gonna warn you...this goes completely off the rails. i have nooooo idea if it's consistent enough or if the ending even makes sense or if feels satisfying enough or if the fic is even long enough IDK MAN !!! i just wanted to write bim bein' smoochy and bitey. regardless of my bullshit, i hope you like this. if you do, please leave feedback. and always remember that i love you very very much and hope you have a fantastic day !!

Bim Trimmer, as plain and simple looking as he may appear at first glance, was in all actuality, many, many interesting things. First of all, there were the more obvious of those things, like: _One_ : He was a game show host for a very shitty, incredibly low budget, practically unheard of program on public access television. We’re talkin’ B movie level bullshit. The kind of show with special effects that looked like they’d been added through the editing tools of a 90’s Amiga found in a back alley dumpster. And _Two_ : He was someone who actually went out of his way to dress in his Sunday best every single goddamn day of the week _._ Every morning, bright and early, Trimmer would show up in another one of his finely tailored, black suits. He'd practically skip around with a bounce in his step. And every morning, somehow, he always looked absolutely perfect _._ Wilford can attest to the fact that, truthfully, Bim hasn't had a bad hair day in eons. Not one. Even a few months back, when he’d shown up to work with his dark locks dyed a bright, ultramarine blue, he still looked fucking fantastic. Somehow, by some incredible feat of confidence only he could manage; he'd pulled off _ultrama-fucking-rine_ blue. In _his_ hair. And got away with it without any repercussions. Honestly, that had been a seriously good look for him too. Definitely one to lock up tight in the filing cabinets of long-term memory. It was one to be kept as a treasure in the mind for years and years to come. Hell, it had almost been a tragedy when it began to fade to his original color. He never went back to it. A damn shame, truly. Finally, the last obvious thing was: _Three_ : Unsurprisingly enough, Bim was the ultimate loud mouth. Always boasting about how good of a host he was, how great his suits looked, how wonderful it must be for his audience to witness him in all his glory. He was almost as bad as Mark when it came to his ego.

 _Almost_.

Secondly, there were the...less obvious things. Like, the fact that, unlike Mark, Bim was actually kind of nice...to some degree. Okay, maybe nice wasn't the right word. But he wasn't mean. He’d barely said a harsh word to anyone. And, though his rewards and punishments for his show’s contestants might usually be considered quite unorthodox; he’d still managed to win the hearts of anyone who stepped up to the challenge. Which leads on to the next, less obvious fact: Bim was an absolute fucking charmer. In some crazy, off the wall way, the overconfident jackass always managed to sway over at least one of his guests a week with his smooth words and refined tastes. Not to mention, if it just so happened that the guest who’d caught his attention was lucky enough to _win_ the game, he’d usually be caught sneaking them backstage once everything was over. He wouldn’t be seen again until much, much later. Long after the lights had gone down, the cameras had turned off, and everyone on set anxiously waited to go home, Bim would finally waltz his way back to them like nothing happened at all. He’d still appear so cleanly dressed, hair perfectly well-kempt, not a thread out of place. Despite the fact that he obviously hadn’t left to do anything particularly innocent. He wouldn’t exactly ditch his entire crew to go off and play a riveting game of UNO with his newfound favorite guests. Oh, hell no. This dude was something else entirely. He knew it. He was well aware. And he most certainly didn't hide it.

And thanks to these particular things _._..these little Bim traits as one could call them, it may come as no surprise that the quiet, Markiplier TV intern who just so happened to stop by Bim’s office on their coffee deliveries in the mornings, may have possibly (but not really, of course) developed a slight crush on the man. But only a small one. Nothing intense. Yeah, definitely nothing serious. Honestly, let's be real, would it really be so surprising if maybe, possibly, that same intern really, _really_ wanted Trimmer to give them the full, VIP, backstage, “ _favorite contestant_ ” treatment? Would it really be so wrong if the intern had the strong desire to waltz casually into his office, plop their ass down on his desk, and feverishly make out with him until Dark or some other poor sod accidentally walked in on the both of them? Okay, _fuck_ , it was definitely wrong. But, god, it just wasn’t fair! Why was he allowed to strut around looking like he does, acting like he does? Wasn’t that, like, illegal or something? It had to be illegal.

It’s not until one cold, Friday morning, when Bim walks into the meeting room with a spring in his step and little, loose curls hanging from his head over his glasses, that the intern finally decides: _Fuck it. I’ve had enough of this bullshit_. Because then, he’s sitting right next to them, coffee in hand (which they made for him, by the way and thank you very much), his knee just barely touching theirs. He’s humming some ridiculous song that sounds suspiciously like “Toxic” by Britney Spears (God, are you fucking kidding me?), and looking at Dark with a cute pout on his face once he finds out that his show’s airing schedule has been completely changed thanks to Wilford’s awful planning skills again. And when the meeting finally ends, the intern creates a plan inside their head. A very stupid plan. A plan that might, inevitably, lead to them losing their job.

But, what’s life without a little risk?

At the end of the day, they walked into his office, a swift hand reaching behind them to close the door quietly. Sitting at a desk in the back of the large, silent room, was Bim Trimmer himself, in all his egotistical glory. He’s focused intently on some papers in front of him, his head tilted down, a hand running through his styled hair. A few of those messy, godforsaken curls have fallen loose thanks to his movements, causing his usual, freshly clean look to shift into something a lot more casual. One, specific curl dangles teasingly above his dark eyes, exactly like it had during the morning’s meeting from earlier. It’s a detail so small, but adding so much appeal to his already endearing appearance. Jesus, honestly, how does someone like that stay so consistently gorgeous throughout the entire day? Was there a secret to it? Some crazy ritual one had to perform? The intern’s breath hitches at the sight, their feet suddenly becoming immobile as if they were frozen in place. They stand there, still in the dark room, hands clasped behind their back, patiently waiting for him to notice them. God. This is so fucking stupid. This is a terrible idea. There’s no way in hell they’d be able to get away with this. Glancing around the room, they soaked in the relaxing color of deep greys painted flawlessly on the walls, and the sleek, modern furniture spread throughout the open space. A smooth, white sofa; a glass, black coffee table; a few bookshelves; they all served to make the room more homey than one’s usual place of work. It was cozy, clean, perfect. Pristine even. Nothing about it looked even remotely lived in, not a single book or cushion out of place. It was all too similar to how he often presented himself in front of his audience and coworkers. Just like the oh-so-fabulous Bim Trimmer; the room was charming and came with a very inviting energy. The intern blinks, searching desperately for some sort of distraction. Perhaps the framed document on the wall behind him could suffice? But the words were so tiny, so illegible, so hard to see. Maybe they could pretend that the document was a certificate made out to his royal highness of ridiculousness:

_“Special Certificate from the legendary and edgy Darkiplier,_

_Made out to the annoyingly captivating Bim Trimmer in those fancy suits,_

_This certificate is in recognition of your valiant services to us at Markiplier TV as the ultimate charming mastermind and stealer of our weak little intern’s heart, the occupier of their feeble mind, the master of looking excellent in ultramarine blue hair, etcetera etcetera etcetera-”_

Becoming so enthralled with their laughably absurd thought, they hadn't at all noticed him calling out to them. That deep voice of his shakes them out of their distracted daze, and they make a small noise like, “ _hm_?” as though their presence in his office is totally, without a doubt, one-hundred percent normal.

"Hey, Is everything alright over there?" Bim asks with a tired, soft tone. That game show host voice somehow leaks through even off the stage. _Fucking superb, you funky bastard man_. "Can I help you?" The intern glances down at a soft, fuzzy, black carpet spread out on the floor to avoid eye contact, their face suddenly tinted a bright shade of pink. All of that confidence they’d built up inside of them practically bolted out of the door. Gone with whatever sense of right and wrong they had left. They buriied their sock covered feet in the fluff of the carpet, embarrassment slowly rising up inside of them like an oncoming, ocean tide. _Fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck you Bim Trimmer fuck you fuck you-_

" _U-uh,_ yeah- _uh_ -" they nervously laughed, pushing themselves forward and away from the door. They forced themselves to take a few tiny steps onward, legs all too heavy the closer they get to him, "are you- _uh_ -are you busy?" The intern asked, barely audible, still not making eye contact as they continued to look anywhere but into those deeply colored, charming eyes of his. _Fuck_. They’ve even got that stage show sparkle still lingering in them. If they made eye contact with him now, they’d probably chicken out last minute. No, now was not the time to chicken out. They knew what they wanted, and they had to go for it. Out of the corner of their eye, they caught him raising a brow. A strong look of confusion taking over his incredibly handso- _no_ , stupid face. 

"I'm not. Is there something you need?" He was clearly, deeply confused, as it wasn't exactly common for the intern to take time out of their day to come by and see _him_ of all egos. Sure, they made it a goal to bring him his early morning, iced, caramel frappe that he so desperately begged for. And sure, they did go out of their way to sit next to him during all of the office meetings but, it’s not like it meant anything. The two of them barely talked at all! The intern had been way too embarrassed to say more than two words to the man in a single day. _Hell_ , now that they thought about it, it must have been even more strange for them to be there considering it was exactly ten minutes before their shift ended. They were supposed to be preparing to leave. No one around the studio liked staying after hours on Friday nights, so why would they? Regardless of the obvious curiosities, the intern kept moving forward, _slower_ , _slower_ , _slower_. In an almost failed attempt, they tried to ignore their own fear. Finally raising their head as they approached him, their sparkling eyes meeting his in a rather surprisingly intimate kind of gaze. Could he perhaps read the room? Could he tell what they were feeling? Their reasons for being present weren't exactly the purest. _Oh, fuck_. The thought of him catching onto their intentions _at all_ had caused an even stronger heat to flush across their already reddened face. _Fuck. That's hot. That's really hot._ They hoped to whatever high power was up there that the pink tint in their cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Swallowing a nervous lump in their throat, they finally moved once more, albeit at a snail’s pace, to stand directly in front of his desk. Their delicate hands fiddled with the hem of the sleeveless, black turtleneck they were wearing. And they noticed his dark eyes take two quick, almost light-speed glances. One glance went behind the intern and towards the closed door, which made the anxiety deep inside their gut to intensify by a fraction more. _Fuck_. _Fuck_. _Fuck_. The other glace went right to their fumbling fingers, swiftly down their legs, and then all the way back up to their flushing face again. _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._ He was looking them up and down _. Fuck_. Was that a good sign? Were they overthinking this _?_ His brow rose again, and he began to nibble on the pen he'd been writing with in what seemed like a motion of coy curiosity. As they watched his eyes look upward at them from beneath his thick glasses, their heart seemed to jump fifty feet out of their chest. Were their lungs collapsing too? They were pretty sure their lungs were collapsing. The intern swallowed again, reaching a single, trembling hand forward to touch the surface of the desk. "Are you sure you're alright? Is it something serious? I'm not exactly prepared to deal with serious this late in the night." He stated in a smug tone, chuckling. His teeth clicked delicately against the pen as a confident smirk overtook is features. _God, he's so fucking cute. Look at him. This is fucking crazy. This is fucking stupid. He’s fucking stupid._

Cool, smooth air flooded the anxious intern’s lungs as they took a slow, deep breath in. Preparing themselves for the crazy shit they were about to pull, they held the breath for only a moment, and then slowly let it dissipate as they mentally conquered their last hint of lingering anxiety. Within mere seconds, one of their legs was hurriedly moving upward as they lifted their body onto his desk. A knee made contact with the hardwood of it, and as a hand fumbled forward to brace themselves, they moved their other leg up. His once curious and confident eyes widened in shock and confusion, and he leaned back in his chair, pulling the pen from his mouth. 

" _Uhhhhhhhhhh_ …?" He nervously laughed, frantically looking them up and down as they inched their warm form closer to him. They had carefully made sure not to mess up any of his paperwork, their knees resting on the space available in between documents. Little feet of theirs hung off the desk from behind them. They watched as his strong hands gripped the arms of the office chair he sat in, and he struggled to form coherent words at the sudden, bizarre display before him, "M-may I ask what you think you're-uh...what you’re doing?" At this point, there was definitely no turning back. The intern had to face what they’d started without pussying out. Hopefully, if they were lucky, Bim wouldn’t later leave the office with a serious need to report to Dark. Worst case scenario _?_ Dark would have them fired. But fuck it. They were already on the desk, already looking him in the eye with clear desire sparkling in their own. They were _fucked._ Simply put. Leaning in to tug on his tie with a tight grip, they pulled him forward into their personal space with as much strength, bravery, and confidence as they had left. Both of their faces were far too close now, his breath ghosting right over their lips. _Holy fuck_. _This is going to fucking happen_. And, yeah, they were definitely blushing to a degree that was almost too much to handle now. The heat of that blush could probably be felt ten football fields away from where the two of them were. The intern’s eyes took a quick look at his exposed neck, and saw that he swallowed. Was he capable of becoming just as nervous as them, even if he was the overly confident Bim Trimmer? After all, he was currently being blatantly flirted with in his own office, at the end of the day, right before everyone went home. What if someone walked in? "W-Wh- _uhhh_ …??" The concern in his stammers made the intern’s heart ache with guilt. Shit. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with this? How could they be so fuckin’ stupid as not to even ask how he felt? Okay, time out! Perhaps it was time to abort mission. Call it quits. Say goodbye and be on their merry way.

But then, _fuck_. They saw the look in his eyes: An all too obvious, deep, darkened showcase of budding desire. Did he actually fucking want this? He couldn’t possibly fucking want this. And in the moment the intern squinted suspiciously at the glint in his eye, he smirked. Again. He actually fucking smirked. _Again_!!!! The bastard.

 _Fuck it_. _Fuck it all_.

It took no time at all for them to move forward, chapped lips colliding with his softer ones in a moment of pure ecstasy. Still clutching his tie in a tight fist, they cut off the skittish breath he’d been taking, the sensation of his warmth suddenly overwhelming their senses. At first, he didn't move, remaining uncomfortably still and frigid, which didn’t help with the intern’s previous paranoia. However, roughly and with a heavy force, he instantaneously pulled them down and closer to him by their bare shoulders. His large, smooth hands pressed tightly into soft skin, thumbs digging just enough to elicit a vocal reaction from the other. They had barely even started moving together yet, and the intern was already mewling so tenderly, so full of desperation. Bim leaned even further into the intimacy, lips pressing hard against the other’s with a hot passion. He scooted instinctively forward in his chair, coming as close as he possibly could to them from his seated position. They fell into a rhythm like that for a short while, lip against lip, all wet and fast, until that bold fucking game-show host decides that he wants to start _nipping_. _Jesus fuck_. His ridiculously white, showman teeth peppered small bites here and there, occasionally causing a light sting to linger behind. After one particularly aggressive nibble, the intern’s mouth falls open to let out a fairly loud moan, and then they can _feel_ the motion of the smug motherfucker grinning against them. _Stop fucking grinning_. He moves to stand up, his chair being pushed behind him against the wall. Those quick hands of his change their position from gripping the intern’s shoulders, to grasping their chin tightly in one of them. Weakly, they let go of the hold they had on his tie, suddenly allowing their own hands to instead massage through his styled hair. They grip onto some of those delicate curls that haven’t yet fallen, tugging onto them lightly as if forcingthem to fall. After all of this was over, they desperately wanted to have the image of his perfect hair, tousled and sexed up, permanently etched into their mind. A sight not many got to see, like another treasure for the memory. Another moan, and they’re suddenly moving their legs again. Adjusting their position, they shifted so that they’re no longer sitting on their knees on the desk, but instead on their ass. Both of their legs moved to spread wide open, and Bim immediately stepped forward to stand between them. His hips collided with the desk, a free hand reaching down to grasp painfully at the intern’s thigh. Who knew he could be so fucking rough? With their chin still held tightly in his other hand, he pulled away, teeth dragging the intern’s bottom lip along with him. And then he’s smirking, breathing labored and heavy, and tilts their head upwards to look at him. They’re left almost panting, face practically on literal fucking fire, and their own hands drop from his hair to rest on his broad shoulders.

“And where exactly did all this come from, huh?” He asked, biting his tongue as he pressed his suit-clad chest against theirs. The contact caused a quick surge of electricity inside them, heartbeat suddenly pounding rapidly. He giggles, his warm hand on their thigh sliding agonizingly slow towards their ass, “ _Hmmmmmm_ …?” _Did he honestly expect them to fucking answer?? This isn’t a fucking quiz show, Bim!_

“I- _uh_ ,” Before they could even think about what they were going to say, Bim’s already at their neck. He brings a hand over to shove the turtleneck of their sweater down, and bites hard in one spot on their skin. Plump lips press with force against the spot, and his hot, wet tongue darts out to suckle at the bruise he’ll inevitably leave there. It’s because of this bullshit, that the intern finds that they can’t fucking breathe because, _holy fuck,_ it’s all just too much. 

“I’m terribly sorry, were you saying something?” His deep voice mumbled against the skin of their neck. He starts nibbling at it more, moving tantalizingly slow, up towards the edge of their jaw. His teeth grazed lightly along their jawline, and then he nipped at it gingerly. Okay. Alright. One very important thing the intern is starting to learn all too quickly is that a frisky Bim is very very _...bitey_. Which isn’t a complaint, of course. But, wow, who fuckin’ knew? Their grip on his shoulders stiffens, and he laughs, “ _Oh_ , how rude of me! I didn’t mean to interrupt!” He moves from their jaw, to their lips, and kisses them heavily. “Please, continue?” He says against them. The intern lets a faint whine slip out from their throat without meaning to. 

"Fuck, _uh_ -” They drag their hands back to his hair, pulling him forward in a hard kiss, “God, I just- _fuck_ -I’m just really into you, dude.” The intern turns pink in the ears at their own confession, sighing as they massage their mouth against Bim’s in between muffled words and broken sentences. “And you’re always so-” They moan when he nips at their bottom lip again, “- _fucking hell_. You’re always acting so fuckin’ self-assured.” This statement gets a humorous laugh out of him, and he pulls away for just a moment to look them in the eyes, warm hands moving to cup their cheeks.

“Well, that’s very flattering, thank you.” He raises a brow, a thumb delicately grazing the intern’s cheek. “It’s hard to resist that game-show charisma, I know.” He says, throwing them a wink. The intern’s eyes widen, and their brows furrow. _He would. He fucking would_.

“Oh yeah? Someone’s fuckin’ confident.”

“Of course I am. You said it yourself! I mean, look at me! Look who I am!” He dramatically tosses his hands out in a wide gesture, his head tilting towards the sky. He’s got a massive smile on his face, beaming with all the self-appreciation and narcissism in the entire fucking world. The intern’s eyelids fall slightly, and they shake their head. _This man was absolutely going to be the death of them._

“This kinda thing happen to you often?” The intern asks as they bring a hand down to his waist. _Of course it does. They know it does. Why the fuck are they asking._ Bim lowers his head, his arms coming down to wrap around their middle. And then he’s moving in close, flush and warm against them once again.

“Would it honestly surprise you to hear about how many people get horny over TV stars like me?” 

“It would, actually. I find it hard to believe that a man from a cheap, public-access television game-show could reel in so many thirsty contestants.” The intern’s nimble fingers tug timidly at the button on Bim’s pants absentmindedly. He scoffs, rolling his eyes at them in mock disappointment.

"And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?" He asks, bringing his head forward to kiss and nip at their exposed neck again. There's already a few tiny marks becoming visible there, and he smiles at his handiwork. He then whispers darkly, his breath hot over their ear, "are you implying that I can't hold my own?" Bim slips the thumbs of his hands underneath their sweater to graze against their soft, smooth skin. The intern jumps slightly at the feather-light touch.

"Eh, that depends. If I say yes, are you gonna keep biting me like that?" The intern says, feigning confidence as their fingers pop open the button of his pants. At their response, the charismatic tv star lets out a rather sensual chuckle. 

"What is this? Some desperate attempt to get on my show? How predictable.” He grazes those bitey teeth of his over their earlobe, almost as if he’s threatening to chomp down. “Isn’t that pathetic?” One of his hands quickly slips up completely underneath the intern’s sweater, and lightly traces patterns along their bare back. He giggles like a giddy school girl when they whine weakly underneath his touch.

“ _Fuck_.” Their head falls to his shoulder, hands slowly unzipping the fabric of his dress pants, “ _God_ , no, Bim-” The intern lets out another whine once he generously kisses the skin of their neck under their ear, “-I-it’s... _fuck_...it’s so much worse than that.” He stops kissing them immediately at the words, and drags his teeth back up to their earlobe. The hand teasingly dancing along the spine of their back suddenly digs in nails harshly, and freezes in place. It’s like a claw stuck painfully into skin, and the intern yelps at the sensation. 

“ _Hmmmmm_? What do you mean?” Bim mutters, voice heavy and stern, “Is this about work? Money? You do realize...you could have just asked like any normal person.” He then bites down on their earlobe fiercely, dragging his nails down their soft back at an incredibly, painfully slow pace. “I don’t mess around like this as a favor. And, Wow! Look at this! Look what you’ve gotten yourself into now, hmm?” Another bite at their ear, and the intern is practically melting into a pool of whines underneath his touch.

“N-No! I promise, it’s not- _wow, fuck_ -it’s not like that!” The man pulls away from them, his hand still lingering along their bare back, and the intern raises their head to look at him with pleading, watery eyes. They’re panting, breath hot, face completely flushed. They look like an absolute wreck, and Bim grins at the sight with a toothy bite of his tongue.

“Alright then, tell me, what’s the real reason for-” He gestures a free hand between the two of them, “this?” _Goddammit Goddammit Goddammit Goddammit Goddammit Goddam-_ The overly flustered intern sighs, still panting, leaning their head back and bringing a hand up to cover their reddened face. They groan.

“Please, don’t make me say it.” They beg desperately, and Bim quickly moves the hand that’s underneath their shirt forward to the delicate flesh of their tummy. His smirk only seems to grow ten times larger as his agile fingers swiftly come up to pinch sharply at a perk nipple. This earns him a pleasured whimper from the other, and the intern’s body suddenly feels as though its temperature has increased a lethal amount. _Holy shit. I’m on fire. I’m on fucking fire._

“ _Tellllllllllllllllllllllllll meeeeee_ …” He muses in a sing-song voice, slowly twisting the sensitive bud between his fingers, “ _please_ …?” His pinching intensifies, “...or else…” And the intern’s hands are suddenly at his shoulders again, gripping the cloth of his suit tightly. Their head comes forward, shaking frantically, cheeks rubescent and bursting in cherry red color.

“ _FUCK_! Okay! Okay! Fine. Please. _Fuck._ I just-” They pause, swallowing down what felt like heavy air caught in their chest, fingers shaking as they hold firmly onto the fabric of his clothing, “You’re just fuckin’ hot, dude. That’s it! That’s fucking it. I promise. I can’t-” His brows furrow, a slight frown overtaking his features as if he doesn’t believe them. _Fuck. Holy fuck._ He twists hard at their nipple, coming forward quickly to clasp his teeth onto their neck again. The intern practically shrieks at the contact, “ _F-FUCK_! I’m serious! You’re- _god_ -you’re always walkin’ around like you own the fuckin’ place. Always lookin’ gorgeous. You’ve always got that look in your eye like you know you’re hot shit, and- _fucking hell_ -I can’t fucking take it. I just wanted-” A loud, strained moan erupts from their throat, Bim licking a long, hot stripe up the bite marks on their neck. “I just wanted you to-to touch me. To kiss me. And, _god_ , I got what I wanted. That’s all I wanted, I swear!” Finally, at the end of their confession, all of the teasing, touching, licking, and biting ceases. And Bim pulls away once more, biting his lip and laughing like he’d just heard the best joke of the century. 

“Yeah? That’s funny. Too bad I already knew.” He slips his hand out from underneath the intern’s shirt to boop their nose, “You’re so obvious.” The man erupts into a fit of laughs, eyes squinting joyfully behind his glasses and head falling back with messy hair, “You’re also sooooo easy to tease.” The intern’s hands ditch his shoulders like he’s made of poison and they’ll die if they touch him, and they press their face hard into their sweaty palms.

“Oh my god. Oh my god _._ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” They bring their hands down, face practically boiling, almost melting at the heat they’re feeling in their skin, “ _You fucking knew???_ ” 

“Uh, yeah. You stare at me an awful lot. I thought it was weird at first, but-” He waves a hand, smirking with half lidded eyes, “when you started bringin’ me coffee all the time with that nervous little smile, I started to think it was kinda cute.”

“ _Oh my fucking_ _goddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd_.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Bim takes a step backwards, allowing for some space between the two, “If it makes you feel any better, you’re nowhere near as awkward as Eric.” He chimes with another laugh, glancing for a quick second over the intern’s shoulder. It’s a gesture that could’ve gone completely unnoticed had they not been paying attention. They raise a brow, head falling sideways slightly in confusion.

“Eric? What’s he got to do with anything?” They ask curiously, their fingers feeling at the sore parts of their neck. Oh, yeah, there were definitely bites there. Did those _c_ ontestants he messed around with often go home covered in bites like these too? Assuming their little escapade was over, they pull the turtleneck of their sweater back up, hoping and praying that it’ll cover whatever’s been left on their skin so they could rush home without questions from anyone. Bim chuckles, face abruptly tinting a light shade of pink as he starts slipping out from behind his desk. Odd, he hasn’t blushed a single time since they started messing around. Why was he blushing now, all of a sudden?

“Well, here’s the thing-” The game-show host, in all his glory, with his tie out of place, his curly hair an absolute mess, and his lips just barely swollen, raises an arm to point towards the door, “Not to ruin the moment, but he’s been standing there, frozen, for the last fifteen minutes.” 

Ah.

Ah, yes.

Of course. Holy fuck. Holy shit. There it is. The repercussions. The intern knew all along, inevitably, if they tried to go for it, something would, without a shadow of a doubt, go horribly wrong.

And as they turn around at the speed of light, quickly making awkward eye contact with a traumatized and terrified Eric Derekson, they realize that they feel no regret. Even at the uncomfortable sight of the man stuttering and struggling to hand a flustered Bim a piece of lighting equipment, the intern laughs to themselves. But only a little. Not loud enough for either of the two men in the room to notice. Because at least now, they knew that maybe possibly, somehow, some way there was a small chance they’d have the opportunity to do this sort of thing again. Maybe they could look deep inside themselves, and find that bold, Bim Trimmer-style confidence just waiting to be discovered. And they could strut back into this office with a spring in their step, just like he does every day. Maybe, perhaps, they could tell him all about how absolutely fucking gorgeous he looked with stupid, ultramarine blue hair. And maybe, just maybe, they’d make sure to lock the fucking door next time.

_“Special Certificate from the legendary and edgy Darkiplier,_

_Made out to our oh-so-brave, handsome and/or beautiful intern,_

_This certificate is in recognition of your valiant services to us at Markiplier Tv as the ultimate charming mastermind and stealer of our obnoxious, annoyingly endearing game-show host’s heart, the occupier of his feeble mind, the master of telling him he looks great in blue hair, etcetera etcetera etcetera-”_

**Author's Note:**

> eric pleASE KNOCK BEFORE YOU JUST WALK INTO A ROOM YOU GOOF ???


End file.
